


Snowblind

by loosescrew



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosescrew/pseuds/loosescrew
Summary: There was something different about Andrew Clark. He wasn’t like the other mindless people in this school.





	1. Like Snow

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where TBC doesn’t meet on that fateful Saturday. I hate having to reiterate a scene that happened in the movie, but I felt like it was pivotal moment between them.
> 
> Updated 12/31/2017 & 1/1/2018. This fic has been re-edited. I’ll also be uploading an epilogue. Ya know. Soon. Some day. Permission to shoot me has been granted.

The bus forgot her. Again.

Allison wasn’t sad. Maybe she should've been, but it was so typical—just another normal day, with nobody to talk to but the blank canvas on her lap.

She guessed that it was sometime past four thirty. School let out at two thirty and after that was a blur. Every time she looked up from the pad there were less and less kids around. Now the faculty and student parking lot was deserted, save for three cars. One of them she recognized. She saw enough of the Ford sedan to know that it belonged to Vernon. He prided in his car being the cleanest.

The eskimo jacket Allison borrowed from her dad's closet wasn't doing its job anymore. This morning had been so nice; the kind of cold that didn't chill her bones but enough that she could see the exhales of her breath, like a personal fog. But it was slowly getting worse. She wished she had taken that plastic watch on the display in the kid's section of the thrift shop she went to last weekend. The wind was starting to pick up making her shiver.

Allison knew she should start walking home. Not that her parents would care, but it would be unbearable once it was night. But, despite the frigid wind, it was beautiful. The sun was beginning to slowly set, turning the blue sky into pinks and oranges and the pearly white clouds were smeared like water colors.

All that was missing was snow. It was late March and Allison wished it was winter already.

Her hands were starting to feel prickly. She switched her bag from the side and placed it on top of her sketchbook before shoving her hands in her pockets. She looked at the school's empty drive way again, debating. If she left now, she could probably make it home before the worst of it. Or, she could try knocking and calling her parents. There was a slim chance they would answer the phone but she could still try. Vernon was still here, he might answer the door.

As she was about to get up from her place on the concrete step, the door opened and shut. She could feel the person's eyes digging holes into her back.

“Hey, I know you," He said. "We have Economics together, right?”

She inclined her head, seeing Nikes on the floor to her side. She knew that voice, it was like warm honey—sweet and too good to be true.

“Oh-kay _._ ” He replied, strained from the lack of a response. “Forget I asked.”

He started his trip down the steps, and that's when Allison looked up. His varsity jacket nearly engulfed him from how low he kept his head. But she knew that hair, too.

He was Andrew Clarke—the star wrestler who was a few games away from winning the school's first championship. He was popular with the guys and handsome with the girls. Every guy wanted to be him. Every girl wanted to be with him. And when he pulled that prank on Larry Lester, he was practically hailed as the king of the school. He may smile and laugh, but ever since that day he was different.

She watched him the same way she watched everyone from the cloak of invisibility.

Those pretty blue eyes of his changed, hardening into crystals whenever his friends mentioned it. And his fist would crumble the notes people passed him, knuckles turning white. His jaw would tighten as he slammed the door of his dad’s Bronco in the morning's.

After a few days, she came to a realization. There was something  _different_  about Andrew Clark. He wasn’t like the other mindless people in this school.

“Yeah.” She said loudly, hoping that it would get his attention.

And it did. Andrew stopped walking, turning around and flashing her a small smile of relief against his tired eyes. Her stomach did a flop. She blamed it on hunger.

“Oh, okay, cool. I thought I mistook you for someone else... You sit all the way in the back, yeah? Sucks that some teachers are starting this seating in alphabetical order crap."

Allison didn’t respond. She didn't like small talk.

“So, uh,” Andrew shuffled his feet, leaning on one side. ”What’re you still doing here? Everyone’s gone.”

“What about you?” She fired back.

Andrew blinked like she should’ve already known. “Coach called for a last minute meet. Wasn’t practice or anything—more like a lecture about how we could do better and some other stuff.”

Allison pursed her lips, wondering if she should lie. Lying was easier than telling the truth. It's not like anyone would believe her if she told the truth. But maybe... Maybe he would—weird as it was.

“I got distracted.”

Andrew looked interested. “By what?”

“The sky,” She jerked her chin in the direction of the football field, though she couldn't see it from the concrete blocking her view. She'd been around enough to know the silver bleachers were bathing in the warm hues. “It’s pretty at this time.”

“I guess,” He replied nonchalantly. “Well, you need a ride? My old man left me his Bronco for the week.”

A huge part of her wanted to say no. Guys like him never spoke to girls like her. She could walk home just fine. She didn't need him.

But another part of her—the smallest part buried deep within her heart like her body underneath all this clothing—wondered what it would be like to have a friend. Well, Andrew wasn't a friend yet. She was willing to settle for an acquaintance, one that wouldn't ignore her in the halls. One that might even care enough to ask her how her day went.

Her thoughts were spinning out of control. Allison needed to make them stop. She wished she knew how to make them stop. Andrew wouldn’t look at her twice tomorrow morning. But the seed of hope was planted, and it never hurt to try.

She didn't realize how long he had been staring, waiting for a reply. Allison nodded and got up, not trusting her voice. She caught her sketchbook before it could fall to the floor and shoved it inside her bag.

Andrew waited until she was near him to walk, staying by her side.

“Nice buttons.” He complimented earnestly. They were buttons she stole from different stores and saying _thank you_ felt weird.

Andrew unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her. The interior was clean, save for the little bit of dust on the dashboard. Allison got in quickly, keeping her feet planted on the floor. She felt bad that her converse were so dirty.

Andrew hopped in the drivers seat, stripping himself of his varsity jacket and threw it somewhere in the backseat. “So, where do you live?”

She bit her lip, embarrassed. “A block away from _Dream Cones_.”

“No way!” He turned on the ignition with a smile. “My mom owns that shop.”

She knew, but she would never tell him she was a frequent visitor during summer vacations. His mom was nice.

The ride was silent aside from Andrew’s constant need to flip through radio stations. Surprisingly, he loved most of the rock songs that kept playing. He also loved country. _Really_ loved country. Allison caught the curl of his lip when Prince's _I Would Die for U_  came on.

“So…" He said after a while. "You like to draw? How long have you been into it?”

“Years.”

He scoffed. “Figured  _that_. What do you draw?”

“Anything," She paused. "People. Animals. Landscapes.”

“Nice. What made you get into it?”

“What made  _you_  get into wrestling?”

He shrugged, biceps flexing under his form fitting long sleeve shirt. “I’ve been playing sports since I was little.”

Allison nodded. “Same here. I’ve been into art since I was little.”

“Yeah? Did your parents think it was a good fit for you too?”

“My parents don’t care.”

“Oh," Andrew contemplated. "That’s nice. Honestly, I wish my parents didn’t care.”

“No,” She pursed her lips, hoping she could get the right words out. “My home life… is unsatisfying.”

His brows furrowed but his eyes stayed on the road. “Well, isn’t everyone’s home life unsatisfying? If it wasn’t, we’d stay with our parents forever.”

Allison swallowed her initial anger. She wasn't sure at first why it struck her as much as it did. As more silence passed, the more the bubble of anger she was trying to keep down grew, spreading through her body and almost bringing her to tears. She knew exactly why it bothered her.

But that wasn't something that she was going to tell him.

“Hey, are you okay?" He asked warily. "You’re quieter than usual...”

“Everything’s cool.” She said, prying the door open when they stopped at a red light. It wouldn't budge. It made Allison even more frustrated. She needed to get out. “You can leave me here. I’ll walk.”

“ _What_? Are you kidding?" Andrew almost yelled. "No way! There’s still a good five miles to go. I can’t just leave you out there in the cold _and_ angry. Just tell me what it is.”

She leaned against the door, trying to push away from him though she had nowhere to go. “Just leave me alone.”

“No,” Andrew said defiantly. “ _You_  brought it up. Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t ‘fix it’,” Allison hissed, glaring at him. “That’s not how it works.”

“You're right," He replied without missing a beat, pulling the car over. "I can’t fix your problems, whatever they are. That's not how things work. Only you can do that. But I can amend what I said because it offended you—but you have to tell me what it is first.”

Allison’s heart hammered in her chest, threatening to explode. She ripped away from those blue eyes.

This wasn't how she wanted things to go. She just wanted someone she could talk to, but not about anything personal. Not yet. They were barely scraping the surface of things.

She knew their social standings. Regardless if she liked him, and she might've been deluding herself into thinking he had a mild interest in her, Andrew was someone way out of league. She was an outcast and always would be. Every day sitting alone in the bathroom stall eating quietly was a reminder.

She didn’t need _another_ friendly reminder by telling a boy she barely knew her secrets.

“Is it… bad? Parents?” Andrew asked softly. Through the silence, she nodded. “What did they do to you?"

 _Screw it_. She fought back tears, replying under her breath. “They ignore me.”

He didn’t say anything. Allison didn't think he knew what or how to say it. It's not like he believed her anyways. She was sure of that. Eventually, Andrew took the car out of park, easily navigating back onto the road. 

“I’m sorry,” She was shocked at his sincerity that she nearly jumped in her seat. “I didn’t mean to offend you."

"You didn't know."

"It’s not that I don’t want my parents to care about me." Andrew sighed, frustrated. "It’s just—”

“Did your parents think wrestling was a good fit for you?” Allison cut in.

Andrew was taken aback by the question. “My old man wants me to wrestle 'cause it’s what  _he_  did when he was my age.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

Allison almost rolled her eyes. “Liar.”

He grimaced. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

He ran a hand through his sandy hair that glowed white under the dark night. Almost like a bed of snow. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to run off and tell your friends.”

“I don’t have any friends.” She murmured, turning away.

“Nobody?”

Allison shook her head. She picked up a string from her wool skirt, ripping it off. It was too tangled in other strings from washing to wrap around her finger. She liked watching the way her fingers turned purple then became numb. She didn't notice that the car stopped at another red light.

“I never asked,” Andrew said suddenly. “But what’s your name?”

She turned back to him. “Allison.”

“I’m Andrew,” He said gently. “And I’ll be your friend… If… If that’s okay with you.”

She looked at him, into those innocent blue eyes that held a promise of hope that she didn’t have to be lonely any more.

“Okay.”

Andrew's voice quivered as he recalled the events of that day, and it was evident by the shimmer in his eyes that he hadn't shared his the feelings this with anyone. Who could he tell? His father finally had a son he could be proud of. His friends all thought he was even more of a hot shit.

It was Larry Andrew felt the most sorry for. It wasn't about himself. He hated what his father had turned him into. And if he ever told any of them this? They’d think of him as a weak puppy.

Andrew’s fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that Allison was afraid it would snap like a twig.

Andrew wasn’t who he wanted to be, just like her. He wanted  _more_  the same way she did. He was hiding behind a façade that forced by his father and enforced by the crowd he associated with.

And just like her, Andrew longed to break free.

He parked the truck by the curb of her dimly lit house. His story finished a long time ago but they finally sat in comfortable silence. Allison didn’t want to leave.

“You should apologize to him.”

Andrew inhaled shakily, avoiding her eyes. He wiped his face with his arm. “But I… How do I apologize for something like that?”

“You just  _do_. You have to. It’ll eat away at your heart.” She paused, wondering if she should keep going. “Larry doesn’t have to accept it. He doesn't even have to forgive you. But... At least you tried. It’s a step in the right direction—for both of you.”

"Yeah." He nodded, ingesting her words. “Yeah, you’re right. I have to.”

“I'm... not sure what you should do about your friends. Or your dad.”

Andrew smiled sadly, unlocking the doors. "Don't worry about that. I’ll deal with them."

Allison gave a curt nod, stepping out into the frigid night.

"Hey, uh, Allison?" She stopped before closing the door. "Thanks for this. I'm really sorry I had to dump that all on you."

"It's fine. We all need someone to talk to."

"You must think I’m pretty bizarre.” Andrew muttered.

“I don’t.”

Andrew snorted. “Yeah. _Right_.”

“I don’t.” She repeated with more force. “It was… nice.”

Allison shut the door, walking on the path to her front door without so much of a goodbye. If she said goodbye, it would all be over like waking up from a dream.

“ _Hey_!” She turned around, surprised Andrew hadn’t driven off right away. He was leaning over the passenger seat, having rolled down the window all the way to get her attention. “You need a ride to school in the morning?”

She smiled for the first time in a long time. “Yeah.”


	2. Art and Cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: line breaks indicating a time passage from here on out.

Andrew listened to her.

The next day, instead of sitting with his group of friends, he sought out Larry and apologized.

“You were right,” Andrew found Allison afterwards, taking a seat across from her at the empty lunch table without even asking. “He didn’t accept it, but it’s a step. I feel a lot better. Thanks for the push.”

“You’re welcome.”

Andrew dug into his paper bag, sorting the items on the table.

"How's your day been?" Allison shrugged, biting into her cereal and sugar stick sandwich.

Instead of getting mad, Andrew laughed. "C'mon, Allison! Tell me! You spoke a lot yesterday."

"That was yesterday." She replied flatly.

It was Andrew's turn to shrug. "Well, today's a new day. You should try something new every day."

Allison took him in, really took him in. He radiated, so much different from how he was yesterday.

"You definitely look a lot better." Allison commented.

Andrew took a bite out of one of his ham and cheese sandwiches. "All thanks to you."

Allison felt her cheeks growing hot and she bit her tongue to focus on the pain instead of the pleasure.

True to his word, Andrew was waiting for her that morning on the curb of her home. She froze in place, but not because of the cold. She clutched the strap of her bag tightly and almost had half a mind to run back inside. It couldn't be real. But it was.

It was really happening—she had a friend.

"Hey, Clarke," One of Andrew's best friends, Mark, showed up in the middle of Andrew's second sandwich. "You mind if we talk? Privately?"

Andrew glanced between her and Mark. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of her."

Mark, seemingly ignoring Allison's presence, finally acknowledged her. She was used to the looks of disdain but that didn't mean it didn't hurt all the same. "Dunno if that's such a good idea, pal."

Andrew's brow quirked. "Why not?"

Allison tuned out the conversation, reveling how the crunchy texture of the cereal blocked everything out... until Andrew stood up.

“Say one more thing,” Andrew said threateningly, chest to chest with his considerably taller friend. “And I’ll waste you. I’m done with this. It was  _never_  funny.”

“—And then you show up with some random chick? So you’d choose some… some  _freak_  over  _me_? Over  _us_?" Mark put his hands against his chest in emphasis. "The guys who’ve stuck with you through thick and thin? She must be giving it to you  _real_ good—“

Andrew snapped like a pouncing lion. The sound of Andrew’s fist meeting his friends’ nose made Allison jump.

The cafeteria erupted into chants and chaos. Some of the jocks rushed over, trying to pull them apart to no avail. Andrew was red and ready for revenge. Nothing would stop him.

Allison swore that it was over when she blinked. And the next thing she knew, she was waiting right outside Vernon's office.

Andrew appeared not long after, disgruntled from Vernon’s yelling and holding an ice pack in one hand. Mark managed to get one good shot at him, the side of Andrew's face was an angry red.

"Hey." Allison said when he didn't notice her.

Andrew whirled his head to his right, eyes widened with something that looked like shock.

Mark shoved past him, snapping Andrew out of whatever reverie was cycling through his mind. Shooting them a threatening glare, Mark disappeared down the hall.

“Vernon gave me Saturday detention,” Andrew huffed though he didn’t actually seem mad. “I’ll be missing a big meet. My old man and coach won’t be happy.”

Allison didn’t know what came over her. She pried the ice pack from his hand and put it on the side of his face, right above his eyebrow. She was grateful all Andrew got was a potential bruise. Mark, on the other hand, got a busted lip and possibly a broken nose—just in time for one of his biggest basketball matches.

His hand came up and she thought he'd swat it away. Instead, Andrew held it right above hers.

“I’m fine, Ally,” He said reassuringly with a smile that made her stomach do flops. He brought her hand down. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to class.”

He held her hand the entire way.

* * *

Allison was used to the stares, but ever since yesterday, it was getting  _worse_ —especially if she was alone. Rumors were starting to spread. Everyone had seen them holding hands. That in itself was a big deal.

She always hid in the bleachers for fifth period gym class. Gym was just another form of ridicule she didn't need. It was enough that she was a sore thumb. Nobody needed to see a complete lack of athleticism.

"You're in my spot," A familiar, gruffly voice said. "Get out."

"I don't see your name anywhere."

John Bender was popular, like Andrew, but in another way. He was known for doing what everyone else was afraid to do. And it didn't help that John seemed to live with Vernon in Saturday detention. Almost everyone in the school was intimated by him—except Allison. He was unapologetically himself. Allison respected that.

"I've seen you before, ya know.” He said in that condescending tone of his.

Allison didn’t respond, going back to her sketch. John plopped down on the grass, keeping a distance between them.

He dug up his carton of cigarettes from his pocket. “So, you come here often?"

“I skip gym.”

“Can’t say I blame ya,” He lit the cigarette and took a drag, the light breeze carrying the smoke away from her. “The uniforms are ridiculous. Gotta say though, it don’t look too bad on the chicks, so I guess the system’s got somethin’ going for 'em.”

Allison shrugged, losing herself in her drawing. John’s obnoxious comments towards the mock football game the students were playing fell on deaf ears. Eventually, he stopped and they fell into an oddly comfortable silence; him finishing his cigarette and her drawing.

Ready to start inking this grassy landscape, she rummaged through her bag for a pen. John took the opening to pluck her sketchbook right off her lap.

“Hey!" She reached for it, but his arms were longer than hers. "Give it  _back_!”

“I wanna see!” He held the sketchbook high above his head with one hand and pushed her away with his free arm. “If you’re the next Picasso, I wanna be a witness to greatness!”

“It’s not done yet!" She was seething. Her works were _private_. "Give it back!”

John’s thumb brushed the page, flipping it upwards. A peak of yesterday’s sketched showed.

“Wait. Is this…” John’s brows furrowed, staring at the monochrome finish from below. Allison sat back, swallowing while he flipped it back completely. “ _Shit_. You saw this?”

She nodded numbly, waiting for his inevitable rage that he was also known for. John lowered her pad, placing it on his outstretched legs.

On the way to meet up with Andrew after school, she caught the incident. John was walking the path towards the entrance and bumped into another person heading his way; a girl, holding a few binders and a text book. The collision caused her to lose her grip and everything splattered on the floor.

What shocked Allison wasn’t the fact that John helped her pick up the mess  _and_  helped her up to her feet. It was the blatant tension between them though they were clearly from two separate worlds. The usually confident girl became a shy mess and even John didn’t have his usual spit fire to him.

Allison knew she needed to get it on paper so the memory could stay with her forever.

He snorted in contempt, his eyes lingering too long on her silhouette. “Ya know, I didn’t even get her name. Must be losin’ my touch. But I see her all the time now. It's fuckin' _weird_.”

Allison pursed her lips. “Her name’s Claire.”

“ _Oh_ ,” His hazel eyes widened comically. “A fat girl’s name. I should’ve seen that one comin’.”

“She’s _not_ fat.”

“Not at the present.” He replied nonchalantly.

“I have her for Algebra and gym.” Allison looked through the peep, trying to find Claire on the football field. “She’s… one of  _them_.”

John didn’t need any elaboration, following Allison’s gaze. “I figured by the diamond earring’s. She seems like quite the _pristine_ girl, if you know what I mean.”

"I'd rather not know what you mean."

It didn’t take long to find her. Claire stuck out from the crowd with her short hair that shimmered different shades of auburn under the sun's rays. She trailed a little ways behind her crowd; a position Allison saw her in  _constantly_. And there was something about the way she smiled that was fake—almost the same way Andrew always seemed to never smile genuinely. Claire's smile never reached her eyes.

“She seems nice, but…” She watched as John’s face contorted when a guy came up to Claire. “She always seems sad. She’s  _there_  but wants to be anywhere  _but_  there.”

John raised a brow, chucking the sketchbook at her that she caught with ease. “What the fuck could she be sad about? She’s got  _everything_.”

“Money can’t fix a broken heart, John.”

“Yeah, well, money could fix a load of  _my_  problems.” He squinted, leaning in further. “Cherry’s pretty hot, can’t lie. I’d slip her the hot beef injection twice in bed and once in the shower, if I could.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping back to her landscape from before. “You should talk to her.”

“… And risk crippling rejection at the hands of those hyenas? No thanks, Kooks. I get enough of that.  _You_  should know how it is.”

“My name’s Allison.”

“My condolences,” He replied sarcastically, making a motion with his hand. “Let me tell ya somethin’: Girls like her don’t end up with guys like me. It's not somethin' I can even hope for.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not the status quo, Weirdo,” John said simply and Allison was starting to think the nicknames were terms of endearment while still being vexatious. “Her parents would never approve—let alone her friends. She’s gonna slum it with me in secret for a couple weeks until she finds something better  _or_  things blow out of proportion. They _always_  stick to their kind in the end.”

“You don’t even know her,” Allison responded softly. “She could be different.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Look, just because things are goin’ swell for you and Sporto, doesn’t mean it’ll be the same for me.”

“Nothing’s going on between me and Andy.” She denied quickly.

“How  _cute_ , you guys are on a nickname basis!” He said, sticking his index finger in his mouth. “Gag me.”

“I mean it.” She deadpanned. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Yeah, _sure_ ,” John rolled his eyes elaborately. “Let me tell ya how many times I’ve socked my best bud in the face for talkin’ shit about my girlfriend—”

“You don’t have girlfriends.”

“—and hold hands with them while I walk them down the halls—”

“Because you don’t.”

“—Not that  _you_  know of, but that’s besides the point I’m tryna make." He flicked his hair out of his face.

"There's nothing going on between him and me."

"Whatever you say," John sighed, exasperated. "I guess I'll be expectin' Sporto in detention, then?”

"I think so." Allison decided she was done inking, leaving it open on her crossed legs for it to dry. “Hey, John? Sometimes you have to take a risk. And sometimes, the risk is worth it in the end.”

John didn’t say anything but Allison didn’t miss the very miniscule clench of his jaw.

John didn’t have girlfriends but Allison couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times he had his tongue down another girls’ throat. He went through girls the same way Allison went through sketch pads. Maybe it was some kind of defense on his part, one she didn't understand.

He shot up right after, careful to avoid hitting his head. “This chat was nice and all, but it’s time to be on my way.”

"Bye."

He turned around and pointed, walking backwards. “This stays between us, got it?”

Allison nodded with a slight quirk of her lip.

* * *

 

Friday afternoon came quickly and Andrew was waiting for her at their usual meet up spot. His brows furrowed, taking in John by her side with an expression she didn’t like.

“Later, Kooks.” John announced, looking over his shoulder as he stomped down the steps. “See ya Monday!”

Allison gave him the peace sign as a goodbye.

“Hey,” Andrew acknowledged but looked behind him, watching John saunter to the parking lot to meet up with a couple of his buddies and smoke. “So, you know Bender? Since when?”

“I have him for English. We’ve been hanging out since Wednesday…” She paused, still swimming in unfamiliar waters. “I guess he’s a friend, too.”

Andrew took her by the waist, gently guiding Allison down the stairs. She still wasn’t sure to feel about this close proximity. John said multiple times that Andrew _clearly_ liked her—he mentioned something about riding a hobby horse—but Allison didn’t believe it. She wouldn't believe it. Andrew was  _just_  a friend.

“Bender’s nothing but trouble.”

“How do you know?”

Andrew retracted his arm, fixing the strap of his book bag. “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about him, that’s all. I have him for Home Ec but he’s rarely there.”

“Does that mean you believe the rumors about me?” Allison asked, keeping her tone neutral. “What everyone says about  _me_?”

“Of course not!” He denied hotly, opening the passenger door for her but she didn’t get in. “You’re awesome! And  _really_  funny, and—“

It slipped out before she could stop it. “He’s not so different from me, Sporto.”

Andrew’s eyebrows flew up at the nickname. “Whoa,  _okay_. Sorry. I, uh, didn’t think you liked him  _that_  way.”

“I  _don’t_. He’s a friend,” She hopped inside. “You know, you’d probably like him, _if_ you get to know him.”

His lip curled in complete disgust and he snorted loudly. “There’s no way in hell that guy and I will  _ever_  get along.”


	3. Not What You Seem

Andrew and John were the most unusual of friends; complete polar opposites that forged a bond over their foul-mouthed fathers after smoking some of John's weed during Saturday detention. If John needed a place to stay for the night, Andrew was there with an open window... And a fridge full of food.

John had his ways of sneaking out during detention. Andrew never knew, but John was there at his home games. Sometimes, Allison would pop in for a few hours to keep John from losing his mind. He never said it, but he was grateful for the company. During tests, she'd left John cheat off her since he now sat next to her.

For the first time in a long time, Allison was happy.

“Yo, Kooks!” John yelled from somewhere behind her. “Did ya get what I asked for?”

Allison wordlessly handed off the sticky note when John appeared by her side after pushing some people out of the way.

“Holy fuck, you actually did it. You really are one weird chick,” He said, marveling at the paper filled with the four numbers he needed. “But  _definitely_  the coolest one I know.”

She almost smiled. Compliments from John were rare, one in a million. “Do I wanna know what you plan to do with it?”

“Gotta make a delivery,” He winked, walking off in the direction of Claire’s locker. “Send Sporto my best regards, I’m ditchin’ our little afternoon date.”

John was hooking up with Claire. Nobody knew except Allison. She accidentally caught them after school and it was something she wanted _so_ bad to forget. She never saw them together on school grounds after that.

He was careful not to let it slip around Andrew. Claire was still on speaking terms with him, though most of the popular crowd had dissociated themselves with Andrew by now. They couldn’t understand Andrew’s sudden interest in befriending people outside of his former circle.

John was too chicken shit to admit he liked her as more than just an everyday play thing that he could throw away whenever he felt like it. He didn’t  _look_  at girls anymore the same way he looked at Claire. Maybe he subjected himself to secrecy because it was better than not having her at all.

Allison didn’t blame him. If she were in his position, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Feelings are complicated and flimsy.

A month had come and gone and she was trying to push aside the ones growing for Andrew. He made it difficult with every passing day.

Allison arrived at her own locker, reaching for her extra pencil case. She had Chemistry next and wasn’t looking forward to pairs work.

“Hey,” She closed the door and Andrew was standing in its place. “Sorry I didn’t meet up with you this morning. I had wrestling practice.”

“It’s okay. How’s your morning been?”

He shrugged. “Coach’s been up my butt more than usual and these study guides are  _killing_  me. I can’t wait for summer.”

Her eyes drifted to his hand, clutching the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. She pried his fingers, inspecting the bandages on his index and thumb.

“What happened?”

“Oh, these are from Home Ec—courtesy of Bender. We’re learning how to sew stuff and…” He sighed loudly. ”Let’s just say, it didn’t go well.”

Andrew didn’t pull his hand away and Allison didn’t know what to think. She wanted to ask what exactly was going on between them, what had been going on between them since they first met. Sometimes, she thought keeping her mouth shut was the better option.

His eyes widened in realization. “Oh, speaking of that, I made something for you.”

He pulled down his backpack to the side, reaching into it. Allison was stunned to silence.

“We had to sew together a teddy bear kind of thing for a grade,” He placed the small stuffed thing into her sweaty palms. It was an ugly shade of blue and the ears were bright red. One of the ears weren’t sewn correctly, and the black eyes weren’t symmetrical. It was supposed to be smiling, but it looked like a menacing frown.

“Bender made one too. It’s perfect, I’m actually jealous! I knew he was good at shop but who knew the guy was good at _this_  kind of stuff? I asked him who was he giving it too ‘cause it’s like super bright pink and  _girly_  and I know he doesn’t have a sister but he kept evading—”

Allison couldn’t say anything, her mouth dry.

“—Anyway, I know it’s nothing great,” He muttered, suddenly ashamed. “Bender kept distracting me with his wise cracks and—“

She pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly.

She just couldn’t get enough of Andrew.

* * *

A guy named Brian Johnson was her lab partner Chemistry. They were doing an experiment Mr. Rogers' liked to call _The_ _Biochemical Guessing Game_. The point was to predict what would be the greatest compound in the foods Mr. Rogers would supply.

Brian was a sophomore. It was unusual for freshmen and sophomore's to be in classes that were full of juniors and seniors. At least he wasn't the only sophomore in Chemistry. He was one of four, and the other three were his friends. He was always with them like a tight knit community.

But there was another reason why his named sounded familiar. She just couldn't remember.

If Brian wasn't happy about being with his friends, he never showed it. His large eyes regarded Allison with confusion instead of ridicule. She found that she could deal with that. He flushed in embarrassment when she caught his blatant gaping.

Surprisingly, they worked in peace. Brian didn't ask her any questions that were anything outside of their lab. He guessed all of the compounds with ease, only _slightly_ off when it came to the raw potato. They were the first ones finished. Allison decided she would wash the materials while he filled in the sheets with the correct answers.

She came back, hands dripping in water. Brian didn't even notice her, completely engrossed with writing the conclusion to their experiment. Allison flicked the water from her hands.

He jumped in surprise, turning beet red. "What was that for?"

"You look like you could use some fun."

He softly chuckled, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Thanks, I think."

"No problem."

She sat down next to him, and he regarded her with a look she couldn't pin point. "What?"

Brian flushed again. "You're... You're the girl that's friends with Andrew, right?"

She gave a curt nod.

"I just..." Brian flicked his pencil between his fingers. "I just wanted to say that it's nice of him to do what he did. Not the prank on Larry, you know, I mean his apology. Not a lot of guys would do that. That... That takes real courage. Admit your wrongs and correct them, you know?"

"It does." She responded. "But I dunno why you're telling me this."

Brian shrugged. "I know I'm book smart and I stutter a lot but I'm not entirely socially inept, you know. You... You're the one that pushed him to do the right thing. We all need people like that."

He was right. It seemed like a life time ago when she didn't have those people; people she could count on. People that would push her in the right direction. But she did now.

And she recognized something in those deep blue eyes of his. Longing. "Do you have those people?"

Brian scoffed, folding his arms on the table. "I'm not really comfortable with discussing my personal, private life."

Allison shrugged nonchalantly, watching as the tables beside them cleaned up.

"I like to think I do." Brian finally said once the people in front of them got up to clean their station.

She thought being able to read people was a blessing and a curse. "... _But_?"

"But I don't," He set his eyes downcast. "Not really."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well," He started, already frustrated. "'Cause my mom wants me to study, you know? Study all the time. My parents care more about my grades than me. They think they're pushing me to do the right thing, and maybe I used to think that, too, but... But I don't know any more... I just don't know. And my friends? My friends just don't understand."

Then it clicked. "John's told me about you. The flare gun was you."

Brian's eyes widened and he paled. "I forgot. You know Bender, too."

"Yeah," She dragged out. "He's..."

"...interesting, to say the least." He smiled, cheeks tinged in pink.

"An asshole is more or less what I'd use to describe him."

Brian laughed. "I used to think so, too, but... But if Andrew's taught this school anything, it's that not everyone's what they seem. John's actually been helping me in shop, you know? I mean, the school year's almost over and he can't get me to an A, but at least I can pass the class with a B."

Allison thought it was funny how change started with just one person. One little action could change so much, could alter lives. It might not start right away but that didn't mean it doesn't happen ever.

"Are you be okay with that?" She asked quietly. Brian looked confused for a split second, then realization hit him. John not only told her about the flare gun but why he had it in the first place.

"I've come to terms with it," Brian said honestly. "It'll drop my grade point average a little bit, but I'd rather that than an F. I'll be okay."

Allison nodded. "Well, if you need anything--"

Brian nodded, with a smile showing off his braces and dimples. "I know. Thank you."

* * *

 

“This isn’t who I want to be,” Andrew said, fixing his sitting position on his bed.

His parents were gone for the weekend and he invited Allison over. This wasn’t the first time Allison had been in his house, let alone his room. Nevertheless, she was always on her toes, careful not step on any of his clothes thrown across the floor or touch his trophies, decorated with medals.

She sat the way she always did on his bean bag by the edge of his bed. Shadow, his year old golden retriever, fast asleep on her lap. His stereo was tuned onto some heavy metal station on a low frequency. Him and John oddly had a lot in common, more than either one of them would ever admit.

“I know,” She said, running her fingers through Shadow’s coarse coat. “But what is it that you wanna be? You've never told me.”

Andrew shook his head, untying his sneakers. “I dunno… I just… I don’t wanna become a mindless machine like old man.”

“You won’t be,” She said softly. “You’re nothing like your dad.”

He gave a weak smile. “God, my old man would kill me if he knew what I really wanted."

"Which is?" She probed, eager.

Andrew visibly shrunk. Allison had never seen him so embarrassed. "I  _really_  wanna go to cooking school. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that I’m good at cooking. Really good. I think... I think it might be my calling. I even let Bender try some of my stuff the other day. That guy actually gave _me_ a compliment, can you believe it?”

“You should do it," She said, upbeat. "If it’s what you really love to do, then go for it. There’s nothing stopping you now.”

Andrew sighed, lying back on his bed after discarding his shoes. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, Ally.”

Allison pursed her lips. “You have to start thinking for yourself, Sporto. You can’t live in everyone’s version of what they want you to be.”

Andrew nodded, folding his hands behind his head. He did that pout he did often when he was lost in thought. Allison loved it.

“Hey, Ally? How is it that you're always right? It's kinda scary sometimes.”

“Comes with experience.” She said cheekily.

He turned his head to the side, giving her a knowing smile. A mass of butterflies formed in her stomach and flew around endlessly, nearly making her stop breathing. Andrew had the bluest eyes, like a clear sky during winter and she willed herself to hold his gaze instead of turning away like she always did.

She dreamed about those eyes a lot.

“I’m really glad I met you, Allison.”

“Me too,” She said immediately. And she was, truly.

He changed her life for the better. No matter what happened, she would always be his friend. And she knew that it was the same for him.

Allison crinkled her nose, wanting these feelings to go back where they came from. “Hey. Did I ever tell you I can write with my feet?”

His brows furrowed in interest and he rolled onto his side. “No way?”

“I can also eat, brush my teeth—“

“ _With your feet?_ ” Andrew was totally amazed.

She nodded and smiled shyly. “If you make something, I’ll show you.”

“You’re on!”


	4. Girls, Girls, Girls

“I fucked up, Allison," John stated, plopping himself in their usual fifth period hideout on Thursday. "I can't believe I totally _fuckin'_  blew it."

Something was wrong. John used her name instead the pet names but she didn’t press it. If he didn’t come out with it right off the bat, it meant he could handle it. He took out an old, mangled carton of cigarettes and smoked the remaining three within the hour. She hasn’t seen John hadn't smoked in so long.

She didn't see much of him after that. Allison caught his signature red flannel during class changes but that was it. And whenever she gots rare chance, he just... wasn’t himself. He was cut off, getting angrier by the day, and avoiding not only her but Andrew too.

She asked Brian about it, thinking he would know something since the two of them were weirdly close. Brian hadn't been able to talk to John either. John hardly showed up to Woodshop anymore—despite that it was the one class John actually _liked_.

Allison regretted not asking. Maybe she could've done something, anything, to stop whatever was going on. All she could do was hope it wasn't anything at home.

It had been raining almost all day Friday. Most days, she liked the rain, but the rain seemed to reflect her mood. Hiding in the bleachers was out of the question—which meant she wouldn’t be able to see him.

Allison managed to slip in the bathroom, hiding in one of the stalls with all her stuff. She passed most of her time drawing and biting her nails. They had gotten too long and were always leaving trails on her arms whenever she scratched.

Despite the rain, it was actually really hot in the bathrooms. Allison wasn't sure how much longer she could take the heat. She was beginning to miss the March cold. Summer sweat sucked.

Allison unlatched the stall at the same time a girl came in from the door leading to the gymnasium. Claire.

Claire joined Allison at the sink, turning on the sink with a paper towel. Allison rolled up her sleeves, carefully placing water on her face and arms. The cold water felt so nice.

“Hey. Um, you’re friends with Andy, right?”

Allison nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Allison. You’re Claire,” Claire raised her eyebrows in suspicion. “We have each other for Algebra… and gym.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you in this class.”

Allison rolled her shoulders innocently. Claire smirked, getting the hint by Allison's lack of uniform.

"I wish I could do that," Claire grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, patting her skin. "My friends would notice."

Claire was even prettier up close, even without the ton of make up she wore. Despite that John was _with_ her, Allison always kept her distance. The crowd that Claire was around weren't all friendly and was partially the reason they were so secretive about their relationship.

“Is Andy doing okay?” Claire asked, curiously yet carefully. “I mean, he doesn’t look sad or anything! I just assumed he’d be kinda bummed about not having as many people to talk to…”

“Depends on what you define as being 'okay'.”

"I deserved that." Claire chuckled, turning off the sink. “It’s good that he has someone like you. I'm really glad, he's changed a lot. God knows I wish I had someone like you.”

Allison could see the crave behind Claire's cool front that she probably spent years perfecting. And Allison knew after spending time around John that Claire was being cryptic. Claire had someone like that, she just wouldn't admit it. She was the perfect princess and didn't want to admit she needed that bad boy in her life. It would ruin her.

Claire dried her hands thoroughly, then tidied her shirt before heading out the door that connected to the gymnasium.

Allison couldn't let her go, for some reason. “I know about you and John.”

Claire stopped right as she was about to turn the knob. She didn't tense.

“I know,” She turned, smilingly knowingly. “He told me you’re the only one who knew—that you’d keep it that way.”

Allison _almost_ smiled, covering it up by letting out a squeak. John trusted her in his own weird way, the same way Allison trust him, but she didn't think it went that far.

Then, Allison frowned. “I haven’t seen him lately. And when I do... He’s... distant.”

Claire looked down, chewing on her lip anxiously before she whispered, “It’s my fault.”

Allison waved her hands in front of her. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I think I should," Claire let out, running a hand through her hair. "I have to—I _need_ to talk to someone, but my friends wouldn’t understand. God, if they even _knew_... They’d throw me aside, just like Andy.”

Allison said nothing, letting Claire continue whenever she was ready. Claire moved from the door to the wall, leaning against it. She inhaled deeply, dropping the bombshell.

“He told me he loved me.”

Allison’s eyes widened. “Holy. Shit.”

Claire snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “I know. It was random. At the same time, it was  _so_  completely like him that I _shouldn't_ have been as surprised as I was. But... well...”

Allison didn't know what to say. She couldn't believe it as much as Claire.

Claire's shoulders slumped, and she frowned deeply against her pretty features. “We had an agreement that it was _just_ physical. No emotional stuff, but sometimes we’d just hang out in my room and not do anything but talk. Or watch TV. And then we’d fall asleep. I guess that’s how things  _happened_.”

Allison nodded slowly, digesting but already knowing. “Does that mean—”

“He drives me _so_  crazy that some days I think I'm gonna start growing grey hairs, but I love him too.” She admitted, confirming Allison’s suspicion. “But you know the weirdest part? I considered him my best friend. I’ve never known anyone like him.”

Allison swallowed her own feelings. “I’m not sure I understand what the problem is.”

“A lot,” Claire said loudly, vehemently, to herself. “I think he took my silence as a rejection so he ran. I don't think my parents like him very much and I _know_ my friends won't. For sure. We’re just... We’re too different. A real, public relationship wouldn’t work with us.”

“Different can be good.” Allison said easily.

“There’s also his never ending list of  _girlfriends_ ,” Claire said, lip curled and not bothering to hide every bit of disdain. “Have you  _seen_  his wallet?”

“No,” Allison dragged it for too long. “But I'm pretty sure he doesn’t like them the same way he likes you.”

“I don’t know what to believe, honestly,” Claire paused, chewing on her lip again. ”But you know what’s funny? If I had to do it over again, I would. The only thing I regret is keeping us a secret.”

“Have you tried thinking about it in his perspective?”

Claire looked confused. “What do you mean?”

Allison counted off. “You’re pretty. And popular. Guys throw themselves at your feet. You could have any of them over him. You have money. You have friends. John has none of those things. He has nothing to offer you.”

“I don’t care about that.” Claire said quietly after a while. “He should know that by now.”

“But  _he_  does care. He'll never say it but he does. A lot. He’s scared that you’ll find something—someone—better and leave him behind like dust.”

“I’m scared, too, you know?" Claire looked ready to cry and Allison felt shitty. It wasn't her intention. "How do I know that he’s not saying that to all those other girls?”

Allison sighed deeply, afraid for what she was about to say. John was _still_ mad at her for that time she stole his lock when he wasn't paying attention. And that time she pick pocketed his knife. Who knows what would happen to her now.

“You know... about his dad, right?”

Claire pulled her lips together in a tight line. It was an uncomfortable subject for both of them. “Yes. I had to get it out of him... But I know.”

“Then you should know he’d never say something like that lightly," Allison pointed out. "Besides… He... He burned all those photos.”

Claire went rigid, eyes wide. “Really?”

“They’re all gone," Allison responded calmly. "It’s only you.”

Claire stared. The initial shock was gone, replaced by neutrality. “Liar. You're saying that 'cause you two are friends.”

“I'm not," She did the cross over her chest. "Swear to God.”

“He told me you're a really good liar.” Claire probed. "A compulsive liar, actually."

Allison wasn't fazed. “I am, but I’m not lying. Not this time. It’s shitty to lie about something like this.”

Claire was quiet, using the wall as support—letting everything sink in if it hadn’t by now. Allison knew it was a lot to take in. Being involved with John, as a friend or as a partner, wasn't easy and would never be.

A traitorous tear slipped through Claire's eye. She wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand. “He called me a bitch once. I can't really remember what it was about, but it was probably over something stupid. I tend to turn things into a huge monster deal because I just can't let things go. He was right.”

Allison shrugged. “If it helps, he’s a bit of a shit.”

Claire giggled at her nonchalance. “He is, but I guess I liked him enough despite _that_ to sleep with him.”

“He’s a good guy. You know... Underneath all his onion layers.”

Claire tried, but failed, to suppress a grin. “ _Way_  underneath.”

The sound of a whistle from the gymnasium broke them out of their little bubble. Claire didn't realize she had been in here for so long, turning the knob on the door.

Allison ducked back into the stall to grab her stuff.

“Allison?" She poked her head back out to see Claire still standing there, biting her lip anxiously. "Do you mind meeting me here after school? There’s... There's something I wanna show you.”

There was a mischievous glint in Claire’s eyes that Allison didn’t like. But she found herself giving her a squeak of approval anyways.

* * *

"Where're we going?"

Claire tugged on her sleeve, pulling Allison forward. "Stop being such a brownie and just c'mon!"

Allison was surprised at how empty the mall was on a Sunday. Then again, she couldn't really remember when she had been to the mall—much less with a friend who was a girl. A very girly girl who seemed to know every make up product known to woman and had a keen eye for sales. Claire had about four bags on one arm and two on the other that she carried with ease and grace.

"Okay, enough about me. We have to get you something." She announced as they turned the corner into Macy's.

Allison followed her like a duckling. "What for?"

Claire gave her a look. "For prom. _Duh_."

The thought had never crossed Allison's mind. She was only a junior. "I'm... I'm not going to prom, though."

Claire shot her another incredulous look. "Of course you are. Hasn't Andy asked you?"

"Why would he ask me?"

"Oh my God," She responded seconds later. "You guys are _so_ much worse than me and John."

"... I'm not sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment."

Claire buried her head in her hands. "Ugh. Okay. Okay. Fine. No prom dress yet, then. But you need clothes."

Allison looked down at her attire. Usually monochrome and baggy. Comfortable. "I'm—"

Her hand shot up, silencing her. "No negotiations. Let's go."

Allison liked Claire. The more time they spent together, which was a lot since Andrew's practices had become more frequent, the more she saw how and why John had fallen for her. They were just like each other but completely different all at once.

Claire pulled a weirdly designed shirt off the rack. She had pulled a bunch already that Allison was carrying in her arms, but this one seemed to stick out to Claire the most. "This would look really nice on you."

She felt the material through her fingers. The fabric was soft, it wasn’t silk but it was still really nice. Allison loved the print the most. "I didn't think you'd like something like this."

"I don't. It's the fabric and the base color that's nice. It's totally you."

Claire put the garment on top of the other shirt in Allison's arms. "But... I don't really understand. You’re giving me something you don’t like."

" _You_ like it, right?" Allison hesitantly nodded. "Then it doesn't matter what I think. _You're_ the one wearing it, not me. It's about what you want," She pulled a pair of ripped, black jeans off the rack on the other side. "These are also really you, by the way."

Allison stared at it. "I... I don't own a single pair of jeans."

Claire shrugged innocently, placing them over Allison's shoulder. "Guess that's about to change."

* * *

" _Don't stick that in my eye_!"

"I'm trying not to!" Claire leaned back on the stool, frustrated. "Okay, here. Try looking up at the ceiling."

Allison tried not to wiggle, but the tip of the pencil eyeliner instead of liquid felt so weird against her bottom lid. She let out sounds instead of moving. Claire tried to contain her giggles.

She never thought that sleepovers would be like this. It was just a bunch of talking, eating, watching movies, painting nails, eating, and giving weird life advice. Did she mention eating? Allison never thought a girl like Claire could eat as much as she did. She could get used to these sleep overs, honestly.

Even a month later, Claire was always careful around her friends. They didn't know about Allison. Claire was also friends with Brian and they vaguely knew about him. Smart kids always got free passes but not weirdo's like her.

Allison found that she couldn't really be truly mad over it. It was a difficult choice to separate yourself from a life you've always known. Not everyone could be Andrew—and that didn’t mean she thought of Claire as being weaker willed than him. She wanted the best of both worlds.

It wasn’t like Claire ignored her during school. In fact, she always, _always_ acknowledged her presence when Allison was around. That's all that mattered.

Claire's parents were hardly ever home, too. Allison had, maybe, seen her dad a total of three times and her mom once. Claire was just loaded and lonely. John had somehow managed to find a way to occupy the empty space in her life.

Claire didn't say it. She didn't have to. Allison caught her glancing at her window sometimes. Just waiting.

"So I use the dark brown instead of the black?" Allison asked, in an effort to distract herself. "And pencil?"

"Yeah. Pencil's thinner, easier to take off."

"I don't like how it feels." Allison responded bluntly.

"I know. But I told you, you look a lot better without all that black shit."

"Hey!" She whispered loudly though nobody was home. "I like that black shit."

Claire contemplated, opening the drawer of her vanity and popping open the mascara. "Well, you could always do a smokey eye. It's nice but a lot of work. You have to get the right colors for your eyes."

"I see."

"Look up." Allison did. "Since we're both brown, I could lend you the palette. Honestly, taking it off is the _worst_. It's such a mess. But if you want, I could still teach you.”

"Hm. No thanks. I think I'll keep it simple."

"It's the best way sometimes." Claire complimented.

"Did you finally decide what you're gonna do about prom?"

She nodded, applying a second coat. "I'm gonna go with a group of girlfriends. I really don't want to but most of them are seniors. They'll get me in. I just don't want to go alone... Or with any guy, really."

Allison knew her well enough by now to read through that.

Claire actually wanted to go with someone. But the only someone she wanted to go with would never step foot in there. And he was busy still doing whatever it was he was doing. Still, Claire decided it wouldn't stop her from enjoying one last night with her friends.

And then... There was Allison's situation. It was nothing like Claire's but the two of them still drawled over it.

Allison pursed her lips. " _Don't look down_!"

Allison squeaked in apology and Claire bit down a laugh. "It's just... Andrew hasn't asked me yet."

"He will." Claire said confidently.

"How can you be so sure?" Claire leaned back, eyes dancing across Allison's face. Allison blinked, feeling the wetness on her lashes. "It's been two weeks and still _nothing_. Prom's almost a week away."

Allison wasn't sure why she was getting so worked up about this. It was _just_ prom. A stupid school function that wouldn't mean shit later on. It might mean a lot to someone like Claire, but it shouldn't mean anything to her.

"Guys are stupid sometimes." Claire said simply, with a shrug, closing the mascara tube. "He's probably just waiting for the 'right moment.'"

"When's _that_? Is there even such a thing?"

"Nope," Claire brought out the eyelash comb, sweeping through Allison's brows. "If John's shown me anything, it's that it doesn't exist. You just take the moment whenever it comes and roll with it."

"True..." Allison trailed off. He was a touchy subject that she avoided but Claire always somehow brought him up. Allison knew better than to add more to it.

Claire leaned back fully. "It looks great!"

"Does that mean I can take it off now?"

Claire looked aghast, placing a hand over her heart. "You don't even wanna see my handiwork?"

Allison shook her head, glancing at the clock on Claire's nightstand. It was past one thirty in the morning. "I just wanna go to sleep. I'm tired."

"Oh-kay. Fine. Only because you're my guest." She plucked make up wipes from the container on her vanity, gently wiping down Allison's face.

When Claire was done, they settled into her queen bed with two comforters and a stack of pillows. Claire liked her room super cold at night. Allison wasn't sure why she had so many pillows when most of them ended up on the floor. It was convenient whenever John was over, he'd use them and Claire would use him. Now that he wasn't around... Allison was something of her pillow now.

There were times when she woke up in the middle of the night with Claire pressed against her back in a fetal position. Allison didn't really mind, sometimes she'd even flip over so they were face to face. It was nice being close to someone, especially a girl.


	5. Oh No, Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole a line from Duckie Dale in Pretty in Pink. I remember hearing it years ago and was like lmao Bender would totally say that too if he ever went to prom.

This was a dream. An unbelievable _,_ fairy tale-like dream—except without the knights in shining armor and fire breathing dragons.

Andrew asked  _her_  to prom. It was awkward and sweet and beautiful all at once. If this is what walking on cloud nine felt like, Allison never wanted to wake up.

Claire had taken her shopping— _again_ —to help her. Allison, to Claire's shock, picked out a velvet and taffeta dress. Allison loved it, especially the skirt and how the color sparkled like rubies in different lighting. Claire said it was unique, yet simple, just like her. Claire even taught her how to do her own make-up and hair for it.

Prom was every girl’s dream—maybe not Allison’s in particular. Still, she knew it was amazing to be here, arm in arm with the guy she was  _probably_  head over heels in love with.

Allison stumbled up the stairs but Andrew’s reflexes were quicker.

“You okay? Maybe we should walk slower.” He offered gently.

“Yeah,” She managed to croak. “I can’t walk in these things.”

“Why’re you wearing them?”

“Claire made me,” She muttered, fixing her stance. She really hated these silver heels she  _borrowed_. Claire said they were the shortest she owned. “She took all my sneakers so I wouldn’t cop out.”

Andrew smirked. “She’s definitely something else.”

With the help of Andrew’s arm, Allison was able to keep upright. He didn’t mind being her anchor.

Andrew looked really handsome in his rented suit. Allison wanted to say it, the same way he complimented her earlier after the initial shock of her elegant design. Her  _own_  parents didn’t even recognize her, actually speaking to her for the first time in months just to ask who she was.

But her tongue twisted, and her throat tightened, and she nodded—like it was their first time meeting all over again.

The live band’s cover of “ _American Woman_ ” by The Guess Who ricocheted through the hallway. The vibration of the bass pierced her chest the closer they got. She was nervous but excited.

A heavy arm around her shoulders almost made her trip on air. Again. Allison sucked in a breath.

“So! How’s my golden couple doin’?”

“Get the fuck off me, Bender,” Andrew whined, trying to shrug off his arm but John didn’t let go. “You’re ruining my suit. I paid good money for this crap.”

“Now, now, Andrew,” He wagged the index finger on Andrew’s side. “Let’s watch the mouth, huh? It’s a school function. I don’t wanna get kicked out before the party starts.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “What’re you now, my mom?”

“Oh, god  _no_ ,” John retracted his arms and pushed forward, walking backwards with precision. He opened the flap of his tux, showcasing a peeking flask of alcohol in his inside breast pocket, wagging his brows suggestively. “I’m more like the favorite uncle that only comes around holidays but brings really  _nice_  presents.”

Andrew grinned, knowing John would share.

“John…” Allison started, staring at his unusually elegant form. “What’re you doing here?”

John looked refreshing in a rented suit and his hair slicked completely back. The ends stuck out like a duck’s butt. He had no finger gloves on, either. Allison was shocked John chose a regular black suit.

He raised a brow in disbelief. “Am I not allowed?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

John shrugged, thrusting his hands in the pockets of the dress pants. “Had some  _business_  that needed takin’ care of. Nothin' against you guys. Just needed to be alone for a while. All’s good now.”

“No hard feelings.” Andrew confirmed. "Glad you're back to, uh, normal, I guess."

“This is also my formal apology to the future prom queen,” John mocked gagged. “Me in this monkey suit  _should_  be worth a life time of ‘em. There’s no way in hell I’m comin’ back next year for hers. ”

“What’re you talking about, man?”

“Cherry better appreciate the shit I go through for her. Don’t worry, Sporto, this is between us outcasts, normal’s aren’t allowed.” John turned around, waving dismissively to Andrew. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Allison blew the bangs out of her vision though there was none. Her hair was in an elaborate up-do. “What happened to  _it’s not the status quo_?”

“Well,” He clicked his tongue. “Some weird chick once told me that sometimes the risk is worth it. Turns out her advice was pretty solid. So here I am.”

Allison smiled.

“But, I want you both to know that despite my appearance at this function, I remain  _now_  and  _always_ , John Bender.” He pointed down at his feet.

Instead of wearing dress shoes, John wore his combat boots though recently polished. The red bandana poked against the fabric of his pants.

Andrew laughed and Allison decided that was better than any song she ever heard.

* * *

John’s tidy appearance didn’t last for long.

When it was time for dinner, he sauntered to their empty table—completely disheveled. The cuffs were unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showcasing an undershirt. He was always careful to never show that cigar burn on his forearm. He loosened his tie, hanging it on top of the jacket on the chair.

Even Andrew followed his lead and loosened up his appearance, unbuttoning his shirt and shaking off the gel from his hair.

Halfway through dancing, Allison undid her hair and took off her shoes. The pins bothered her scalp and her feet ached. Claire frowned when she noticed Allison’s hair but otherwise said nothing, taking a seat next to John.

Claire was already here when they walked in, dancing with a group of her friends. Like Allison, she was a rare junior amongst a crowd of seniors. She ditched them once she noticed John. They were inseparable since. Her friend’s approval didn’t matter anymore, they would be gone within two weeks.

“Holy shit,” Andrew gaped when they told him they were  _together_. He took a gulp out of John’s flask when none of the administration looked their way. “I had no idea—fuck, this shit is  _strong_. How’d you sneak it in? They checked everyone this year.”

John shrugged innocently. “Stuck it down some nerd’s pants.”

Andrew choked, coughing roughly. Allison immediately reacted, gently patting his back. John hid his triumphant smirk with a lick of his lips.

“Is that any way to treat a friend?” Claire asked, bumping John’s arm with hers. His red dress shirt was a nice compliment to her pink, satin dress.

“Who would I be if I missed  _any_  and  _every_  opportunity to make his life a living hell?” He asked, tone laced with sarcasm without even trying. “Cherry, you should know me by now. I ruin people’s lives and I enjoy doing it. It’s my  _job—_ and I do it free of charge _._ ”

Claire rolled her eyes, reaching out to fix his messy hair.

“I’m fine, Ally,” Andrew croaked. He scooped up his plastic cup full of water, drinking slowly.

“You all right there, Sporto?”

“Shut up, Bender,” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, pushing away his plate still full of food. “So why’d you guys keep it from me?”

John swallowed the chicken reluctantly.

Claire rolled her bare shoulders. “The only person that knew was Allison.”

Andrew turned to his other side. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

Allison finished pushing some rice on her fork. “It wasn’t my place to say. I found out because I caught them once.”

Even in precisely applied makeup, Claire flushed. “I’m still embarrassed about that. I’m  _so_  sorry.”

John mouthed  _I’m not_.

“I’ve seen worse. Don’t worry about it.” Allison said, detached. The rice tasted bland, she almost spit it out.

“This food is  _horrible_. This tastes like my mom’s casserole.” John placed his utensils on top of the plate loudly. “ _You_  should’ve cooked for us.”

Andrew paused from taking a sip, arching a brow. “… Is that a compliment?”

“Anyways," John deflected. "I’m hittin’ the diner by the school after this. Wanna come?”

“I’m down,” Andrew responded. “As long as you’re paying.”

John scowled. “Do you also need me to hold your hand while you wipe your ass?”

"It's the  _least_  you could do after those times I made you food in Home Ec."

Claire mouthed the word  _boys_  to Allison, covering the side of her face with her hand so John couldn’t see. Allison pulled her lips together, trying not to smile.

John snatched his flask from Andrew and threw his head back—hoping the alcohol could wash away the awful taste.

Claire seized the flask from John’s hand when he finished. She gave it a hesitant sniff before she took a long sip. John was impressed.

“... What?” She asked provoked, placing the flask back in his hand. “You think a high maintenance girl like me can’t drink? Have you met my mom? The one who drinks at least 3 bottles of wine a day?”

“If memory serves me right she fainted when you introduced me.”

Andrew chuckled softly by Allison’s side.

“She was drunk, John. She didn’t remember you the next day.”

“She asked me if I was a witch from Salem,” Allison chimed in, remembering that afternoon fondly. “Or if I practice magic.”

John snorted. “I’m not surprised. I’m sure if Claire brought dear ole’ Andrew home with her, mom would be all over him.”

“Well…" Claire grimaced. "My mom does like them young and groomed.”

Andrew’s face fell. “Remind me to never step foot in your place.”

“I like your dad, though,” Allison said suddenly. “He’s a good guy.”

“No hate towards the man,” John agreed in his own way. “He got me the job at the auto shop. He’s also helping me find my own place. That man’s got  _connections_.”

“ _Oh_ , I love this song,” Claire hummed to the off key cover of Madonna’s “ _Material Girl_ ” the band started playing. She placed her hand on John’s forearm to get his attention. “I’m gonna go, if that’s okay with you.”

John waved her off. She took one more sip of his flask and left without a second thought.

“Hey, Bender,” Andrew slapped his arm. John shot him a look that said  _what the fuck_. “You gotta tell me the details, man. I’ve known Claire since we were kids. She’s never dated  _anyone_.”

He brushed the invisible grim off the spot where Andrew hit him. “Guess there’s a first time for everything,  _huh_?”

“Don’t give me that shit! I  _know_  how you act. I’ve  _seen_  those chicks in your wallet. Claire’s—“

“— _nothing_  like them. I  _know_. And I’m  _glad_ ,” John folded his arms across his chest. “God, Sporto,  _relax_ , I know what I’m doing. Since when did you turn into her brother?”

“That’s not the point, butt face—“

“Ya know, if you’re so anal about the pictures bein’ gone, why didn’t you say so? I would’ve given you some of the photos. Sharing is caring—”

“—I just don’t wanna see her get hurt, that’s all,” Andrew muttered and it was almost lost in the music. “And it would  _suck_  if it came from you, ‘cause I actually consider you a friend, believe it or not.”

John’s mouth dropped open comically, gradually placing a hand over his heart. “That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, Andrew.”

“You better lick it up, man,” Andrew scowled. “‘Cause I’m not repeating it.”

John smirked. “I like the chick. _Actually_  like her. I don’t know why but I do. She’s …different. Special, even.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“Allison knows what I’m talkin’ about, too,” He fixed her with a  _look_. “Don’t ya, Kooks?”

John said it in that sharp, deflective tone that would make  _anyone_  embarrassed. Allison felt her cheeks growing warm. Andrew turned to her questionably, with big blue eyes that matched a child’s curiosity.

“What’s he talking about, Allison?”

“Nothing,” She shot John a glare. “Drop it.”

“Well, look at the time. It’s time for my grand escape,” John pushed the chair back and got up, placing the flask in his pocket. The Romantics’ “ _Talking in Your Sleep_ ” started playing. “I’ll be meeting you losers at the diner later?”

“Sure. Save us a seat.” Andrew said with a curt nod.

John walked off, leaving them alone.

“So, what did he mean?” Andrew turned to her again, asking softly. “Do you… like someone?”

“It was nothing, leave it alone.” Allison responded quickly.

Andrew blinked at her tone. “All right, forget I asked.”

Absentmindedly, Allison massaged her sore feet. They had been dancing for about an hour nonstop before sitting down to eat.

The live band  _sucked_. They kept playing mediocre pop music—music that someone like Claire loved. Andrew complained and John was there right by his side, barking the same complaints but they  _still_  danced. Allison wasn’t sure if she could even consider it  _dancing_. Andrew was a demon on the dance floor, with two left feet, and John was… well,  _John_.

Allison loved to dance. She still remembered those nights, dancing alone in her room. Now were nights when Andrew’s parents were gone and they jammed out to some rock songs on full volume that made the neighbor's knock on his front door at two in the morning. Shadow always jumped in, especially if it was Queen.

“Hey, don’t you like this song?”

She hadn’t realized the band started playing the beat of one of her favorite songs by Prince. “ _When Doves Cry_ ”.

“Yeah…” Allison started hesitantly.

Andrew held out his hand, beckoning. “Well, c’mon, let’s go!”

Allison stared at his open palm, that  _same_  warm palm she held so many times and wanted to keep holding.

“But, Sporto…” She chewed on her lip. “You hate Prince...”

Andrew made a face, he didn’t disagree. “I know, but  _you_  like him, right?”

She took his hand. And that was the final straw.

She was hopelessly in love with Andrew Clarke and she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore.

* * *

Allison wished she drunk some of that alcohol. Actually, not  _some_ —the whole thing, if John would’ve let her. Being trashed was better than wide awake, having to deal with  _everything_. She wanted to run, run and never return, but Andrew's firm palm guided her forward.

Prom was over; the final song of the night was a cover of Depeche Mode’s “ _Just Can’t Enough_ ”. Allison thought it was  _fitting_.

They walked hand in hand back to his Bronco, his jacket over her shoulders. The cold and jagged cement of the sidewalk felt nice against her throbbing feet. All that jumping around also left her  _starving_. She was glad John always thought ahead.

“You should put them back on,” He squeezed her hand. “You never know what’s on the floor.”

“My feet hurt. This feels good.”

“I could carry you, you know?”

She wondered what it would be like to be carried, bridal style by Andrew, but shook off that mental image. She wasn't a princess, Claire is.

Allison halted, using his arm as an anchor again to put the heels back on. She wished she had her bag; she could’ve stuffed sandals in it. Claire took that from her too, giving her a clutch instead.

“Is being carried so bad?”

“No.” She almost bit her tongue at how rude she sounded. What was  _wrong_  with her?

After clasping the strap in place, she started to walk forward but Andrew’s hand stopped her. He didn’t move.

“Allison, are you okay?” He asked, concerned. “You’ve been acting really weird ever since Bender made that comment at the table.”

“I’m always weird, Sporto,” She responded flatly. “It’s not something that I can turn off with a flip of a switch.”

“You know what I mean. John’s just being an ass, don’t take it to heart.”

“I know. Everything’s cool.” She said but looked away.

“No, it’s not,” His other hand settled on her wrist, working up her arm to warm it up. He could feel the goose bumps but it wasn’t from the chilly night air. “You’re doing that  _thing_  you always do when you’re upset—”

“Which is?”

“You’re shutting me out. Don’t shut me out, Allison,” He pleaded gently, with that soft voice that made her want to spit it out because he wouldn't judge her. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You've always been a shit liar to me, Allison. If it’s what he said, just let me know. I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“No,” She said slowly. “You can't fix this because... John was right.”

“What do you mean?”

She finally looked at him. “I do like…  _someone_.”

“But?” Andrew probed with a shake of his head, not getting it.

“I don’t think he likes me that way,” Allison rolled her shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. “I think I’m taking everything he does for me the wrong way.”

“Well,” His brows furrowed. “He’d be stupid not to like you. You’re an amazing person, Allison. Any guy would be really lucky to have you in their life. I know I am.”

Allison swallowed against her tight throat. She wanted to say  _it_ , but words failed her. When words failed her, she had a canvas but that wasn't here.

Against the light of the street lamp, his hair looked like a bed of snow again. Like the snow she wished for months ago. Almost  _her_  snow, but he would  _always_  be too far away for her to reach.

“What’re we doing, Andrew?” She asked softly, laced with fear of the unknown.

Andrew froze. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

“This,” She indicated at their still joint hands. “What is  _this_  supposed to mean? Friends don’t do this. Couples do this.” She breathed heavily, the impact of her own words crashing down on her that her eyes starting watering. “And you do it with me… All the time… Does that mean…”

“I—“

“I’m really  _scared_.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting nothing more than to rip her hand out of his.

He took a step closer, so close that she could feel his body heat. “What’re you so afraid of?”

“Being alone. I don't want to be alone anymore.”

“You don’t have to be,” He paused, gently placing his hands on her upper arms under his jacket. They were so warm, like sitting in front of a fire place, though they were calloused from playing sports. She didn't care. “You  _haven’t_  been since we met.”

“I’m also really scared… That you might not like me the same way I like you.”

There, she said it. Not completely straight forward, but Andrew knew her enough to get it this time. She couldn't look him straight in the eye, biting down on her bottom lip in anticipation.

He did something she didn’t expect.

Andrew  _chuckled_.

Her brows furrowed and body straightened as she looked up. “What’s so  _funny_?”

“I’m not laughing at  _you_ , Ally,” He gave her that shy smile she loved so much. “I don’t think you've noticed but I  _really_ like you too.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the bubbling anger she felt seconds ago vanished. "The same way?"

"The same exact way." Andrew reaffirmed.

“…Yeah?” She asked, skeptical that this was  _still_  just a perfect illusion. Any moment she would wake up and it would be time for  _another_ day at school.

Andrew nodded, one of his hands maneuvering to the back of her neck, fingers curling through her hair. He had that same delicate look in his blue eyes, the one he gave her when they slow danced to John Lennon's " _Love"_ —like she meant everything to him, the same way he meant everything to her.

As his face got closer to hers, like some magnetic pull, she felt herself leaning in too—until their lips met.

It was  _everything_  and  _more_  she imagined for a first kiss. His lips were welcoming, molding against hers that she was able to match every movement perfectly. Maybe Andrew really was made for her.

Her stomach felt so light and fluffy, and maybe this time it was because she hadn't eaten. She could feel the fluttering, the butterflies flapping their wings furiously. He pulled away ever so briefly and came right back. Allison wanted this to last and it seemed so did he.

His fingers weaving through her hair sent tingles down her spine and she didn't know what to do with this sudden burst of energy going through every square inch of her body except  _bounce_  like some dumb bunny.

Finally, he pulled away completely.

The bouncing didn't cease. Andrew didn't seem to mind. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I was afraid you didn't like me back too. You're not exactly the easiest person to read, Allison, but that's okay," His hand that wasn't tangled in her hair came down to rest on her waist. "It's who you are."

Allison nodded against his forehead. "That's fair."

"So, uh, do you wanna do something tomorrow? Like go to the movies tomorrow? We could watch The Goonies?"

His sudden shyness was so cute that Allison couldn't help smiling. "I'd like that."

They found his Bronco after wandering aimlessly through the parking lot. He held the door open for her, like he always did, and Allison wondered how she never truly picked up on that habit of his.

She wasn't a princess, but Andrew made her feel like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …And that’s it folks. Hope you all liked it.
> 
> I really love 80’s heavy metal/rock/some pop music but man. I seem to really love the stuff that’s after ’85. Finding music that I like before ’85, and that could be acceptable to play at prom, was a mission. I should’ve asked my dad.
> 
> I really wanted to use The Beatles “Something” bc it’s like my favorite love song—probably ever—but a quick Google search showed me Lennon’s “Love” and I felt like it fit them better. “Something”, imo, is more for BenderxClaire. Maybe one day I’ll mention it with them.

**Author's Note:**

> I graduated high school back in 2013 so my memory of names for certain classes and the grade levels to take them are a bit hazy.


End file.
